


taking one for the team

by tarcanza



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Feelings, First Time, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarcanza/pseuds/tarcanza
Summary: “It’s got to be anal, huh?” Jonny says, taking a step closer to Kaner.“...Yes,” Kaner says cautiously, not moving back but carefully watching Jonny like he’s a rabid, wild animal.“And if you get it, you go back to scoring. Everything will be kum-ba-fucking-ya. Ass is the solution,” Jonny asks calmly, but it’s really more of a statement.“Yes?” Kaner repeats, brows steadily creeping towards his hairline.“Thenfine, you stupid, deluded motherfucker,” Jonny says viciously. “Fuck. My. Ass.”
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 58
Kudos: 285





	taking one for the team

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I don't even know. About a week ago, I started working on the 1988 story I've been wanting to write since I started posting--a fully fleshed relationship study, my ultimate love letter to 1988. It's probably going to be like 200k words. And then I sat down today, clicked on the doc that's been sitting in my Google Drive for months entitled "kaner likes anal" that had like literally 3 lines written and just--wrote 7k of fucking porn. Gah. I really thought I was done with PWPs for the time being, but I guess not. I don't even know if this one makes sense--but here it is anyway. *Now back to writing my 200k angstfest with an ACTUAL PLOT lol* Hope everyone is safe and well, and happy holidays!

“And then she let me, you know,” Kaner says, giving a coy little shrug. His collar’s popped like a douchebag, and he takes a long swig of beer, sets it down, and wipes his wet lips on the back of his hand. 

“What?” Shawzy presses, eyes all wide, like they haven’t heard this story a million times before. Kaner does that thing where he blinks all quick, doing a sweep of the table from under his lashes like he didn’t expect everyone to be waiting expectantly for what he has to say. It’s a whole fucking production.

“Well,” he drawls, tracing the rim of his glass, letting an obnoxious smirk curl onto his face. “Go to pound town, if you know what I mean,” he says finally, grinning hard at the cheers and hollers that greet him in response, like he’s talking about scoring a game winning playoff goal rather than convincing another poor chick to let him do anal. 

“You’re a god, man,” Shawzy says reverently. 

Jesus Christ. Jonny only just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, but it’s a near thing. When Kaner waggles his brows and leans back in his chair with a supremely self-congratulatory air, Jonny really _does_ roll his eyes—just what he wanted on a Thursday night, to be regaled with another tale from Kaner’s never-ending stockpile of Anal Adventures. 

“I need another drink,” Jonny mutters, abandoning his half-full glass of Miller Lite and getting up just as Kaner starts up a Q&A panel with the rookies, all of whom are staring up at Kaner with goddamn _stars_ in their eyes. He makes his way over to the bar, no other goal in mind other than to get something in his system that has the highest alcohol content possible. 

He doesn’t get it, the whole anal thing—never has. Kaner’s been obsessed with it since they were rookies, sometimes refusing to pick up unless the girl agreed to let him in the backdoor. Jonny asked him, once—what the big goddamn deal was. Kaner turned to him thoughtfully and said, “It’s just so... _hot_ , inside, yeah? Tighter. And there’s this whole, like, forbidden fruit aspect to it I guess. It’s just cool, to get someone to let you have them that way.” It was surprisingly more eloquent than Jonny expected, but he wrinkled his nose nonetheless. 

Listen, he’s a hot-blooded Canadian male. It’s not like he hasn’t gotten curious himself—he’s tried it. Of course he’s tried it. But honestly, it’s a lot of fucking work—with not a lot of payoff, in his humble opinion. It’s tight, yeah, but the girl kept squirming uncomfortably underneath him and wincing as he pushed in, which was kind of a boner-killer—he thinks Kaner’s full of shit for bragging about how he gets girls to come on his dick while taking them from behind. 

Well, he _always_ pretty much thinks Kaner’s full of shit, but especially about that. Besides, he concluded he far prefers the soft, wet clutch of pussy anyways, so he’s happy to leave the ass-fucking stuff to Kaner—as long as he doesn’t have to hear about it when he’s just trying to unwind and get a good buzz going, Jesus fuck. 

By the time he returns, he’s got a nice little cloud of intoxication hazing up his mind, courtesy of the mostly empty whisky sour in his hand—a protective measure against the possibility that Kaner would still be banging on about you-know-what. But the conversation’s thankfully moved onto greener, if only slightly less moronic, pastures—namely how many olives Saader could fit in his mouth at the same time. 

Jonny hears a few 7’s and scattered 10’s before he decides he’s had enough. He throws out a casual “25.” Everyone turns towards him, mouths open in outrage. “No fucking way,” Duncs says belligerently, and Jonny brings his glass up to his mouth to hide his smirk, leans back, and watches the chaos unfold. 

Easy, easy, easy.

Of course, Saader predictably ends up choking on the olives, but there’s no more anal talk for the rest of the night, and Jonny gets to enjoy his buzz in peace.

Hey, there’s a reason Jonny’s the captain of this team. 

* * *

Maybe the most annoying thing about Kaner’s whole anal obsession—even beyond the obnoxious storytimes—is the fact that he claims it _genuinely_ affects his performance. “Just gotta get some ass, soon, man,” Kaner says woefully of his four game point-drought, which is exactly the _last_ thing Jonny wants to hear right now.

“What you need,” Jonny grits out, feeling his temples start to throb, “Is to find a way to get the puck to the back of the net, dipshit.” 

Kaner just nods solemnly. “Exactly,” he says, and Jonny resists the urge to wrap his fingers around Kaner’s throat and strangle him to death. 

But the fact that Kaner’s anal-vodoo is total nonsense doesn’t really fucking matter, because _Kaner’s_ convinced it’s true. When his pointless streak keeps creeping up in length, Jonny finds himself resorting to telling Kaner to pick up. “ _Fine,_ go out and find someone’s ass to fuck, Jesus Christ,” Jonny hisses, not sure if he’s more upset about Kaner’s on-ice performance or the fact that he’s being forced to lower himself to indulge in Kaner’s ridiculous superstitions.

Kaner scowls, shoulders tightening up. “It’s not that fucking simple, asshole,” he says defensively. “Not exactly an easy sell, is it? Can’t just walk up to any chick and tell her you wanna rail her from behind.”

Jonny raises a brow. “What happened to the ‘line of girls waiting to take your fat cock up the ass’,” he says, retroactively horrified he’s pulling a direct quote from one of Kaner’s stupid tales. 

Kaner shrugs moodily, cheeks going a little pink. “The chicks have been difficult lately, what can I say,” he mumbles, staring down at his feet. He looks up.“Don’t hate the player man, hate the game.”

Jonny rubs his forehead. “Oh believe me, I’m starting to,” he says wearily, mind slipping into a disconcertingly highly recurring fantasy of leaving the NHL to live in a small cabin in the woods. Peace. Quiet. Fresh air. No migraine-inducing teammates. 

The final straw, though, comes when Kaner legitimately tries to blame the way he whiffed a wide open shot on the fact that he hadn’t picked up in a while. “I’m telling you, I get fucking antsy, I can’t think straight,” Kaner insists, following Jonny intro their room as Jonny fumes. 

Jonny turns on him the second they get inside, barely waiting for the door to click shut before he snarls out, “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Kaner raises a brow. “No?” he tries. 

Jonny makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. 

“Listen, I’ve never gone so long without getting it before,” Kaner says, steadfastly sticking to his stupid as fuck defense. “That’s what’s been messing with my performance, I swear to god!”

“Oh for the love of— _why can’t you just nail some pussy like a normal person?_ ” Jonny yells. “Like seriously, just this once. I know anal is some sacred fucking experience for you or whatever, but for the sake of the team, just go _get some_.”

Kaner, infuriatingly, isn’t the slightest bit phased by the intensity of Jonny’s ire. He just shakes his head solemnly and says, “Sorry, no can do man. It wouldn’t work. It’s gotta be anal.”

For a few seconds, Jonny just stares. Lets every way he’s imagined killing Kaner over the last few weeks pass through his mind just to bring him a semblance of joy. And then, it hits him. 

He starts to smile. From the look of apprehension that crosses Kaner’s face, it’s probably a creepy smile. Fucking _good._ He’s going to blow the lid off this stupid fucking theory once and for all. 

“It’s got to be anal, huh?” Jonny says, taking a step closer to Kaner. 

“...Yes,” Kaner says cautiously, not moving back but carefully watching Jonny like he’s a rabid, wild animal. 

“And if you get it, you go back to scoring. Everything will be kum-ba-fucking-ya. Ass is the solution,” Jonny asks calmly, but it’s really more of a statement. 

“Yes?” Kaner repeats, brows steadily creeping towards his hairline. 

“Then _fine,_ you stupid, deluded motherfucker,” Jonny says viciously. “Fuck. My. Ass.”

Kaner blinks. “What?”

“You heard me,” Jonny says, jabbing a finger in Kaner’s face. “If sticking your cock in someone’s ass is somehow truly the magic key to unlocking your _missing ability to do your goddamn job_ , then I volunteer as fucking tribute, okay? I’ll let you fuck my fucking ass, because I _really_ need you get your head back in the game.” 

He’s breathing hard by the time he’s done, triumph sparking in his chest. Match, set, _point._ Now Kaner’s going to have to admit the whole ass-fucking facade is a fucking _farce_ , because Jonny just handed him his ass on a platter—the supposed solution to Kaner’s playing drought. But there’s _no way_ Kaner’s going to take him up on it, which basically just means he’s a big fat liar that’s hiding behind some nonsensical claim about needing to fuck ass in order to justify his poor performance. 

Jonny waits for it with a sense of vicious glee—the frozen look of surprise on Kaner’s face, the falling shoulders, the sweet, sweet, refusal that’s going to out him as a _coward_ that can’t own up to his own fucking shortcomings _._

What he’s _not_ expecting Kaner to do is give Jonny a considering look and ask, “How do I know if I can even get hard?” in a dubious voice. 

“What,” Jonny says flatly. 

Kaner scans his eyes up and down Jonny’s body, gesturing at him. “Like, I don’t know if I can get it up,” he says almost regretfully, like he’s fucking _apologetic._ “But, like, sure, I’ll try,” he shrugs, hands reaching down to pop the button on his pants. 

“Kaner,” Jonny says, impressed at how even his voice is coming out. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Kaner doesn’t even fucking blink, shucking off his pants before reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt. “‘M getting ready to try to fuck you,” he says, shirt coming off with a soft woosh, and _Christ_ he’s standing there in his fucking boxers. He walks over to the bathroom _humming,_ clapping Jonny on the shoulder on his way there. Jonny stays frozen, listening to Kaner muck around in the bathroom. There’s the sound of a faucet creaking, and then—water rushing out and the faint clatter of shit being shoved around. 

Jonny feels a wave of hysteria pass through his body. Oh god, is he currently on the receiving end of the Patrick Kane Sex Preparation Bathroom Special that he’s unwillingly heard so much about? Jonny’s just about seen it all when it comes to Kaner’s bathroom habits, but this. This was one line he thought he would never, ever have to cross. The faucet turns off, and there’s a pause. “Unless, of course, that wasn’t a genuine offer?” Kaner calls out innocently, and Jonny— 

Jonny panics. 

How. How had this happened? Was this some sort of cruel punishment for the Hawks’ losing streak? The hockey gods showing him the consequences of being a piss-poor captain that’s unable to get his winger to score a goddamn goal the normal way? So now they somehow manipulated Jonny into literally putting his ass on the line in order to prove how committed he is to his captaincy? 

“Tazer?” Kaner’s voice calls out again, interrupting Jonny’s complicated tangle of thoughts. He closes his eyes. It’s a test. A _divine_ test—he can hear the hockey gods’ mocking laughter ringing in his ears. Well fuck. Them. Maybe Jonny shouldn’t have underestimated how much Kaner apparently needs anal, but the hockey gods shouldn’t have underestimated just how fucking devoted Jonny is to his team. So letting Kaner fuck his ass is the only solution to get the Hawks back in the game? Then fuck his ass Kaner will. 

“It was a genuine offer,” Jonny calls back, suddenly calm. There’s this weird fire lighting low in his stomach—this is his job. This is for the team. He can do this for the team. He can do _anything_ for the team. So he efficiently strips off all his clothes, dumps them on the desk chair, and marches over to the bed with all the determination of an NHL Captain that’s made the decision to carry his team on his fucking back. 

He eyes the bed for a second before deciding to lay stomach-down—figures that’s the best way to avoid any and all eye-contact with Kaner, because Jonny may be a fucking martyr, but he doesn’t actually have a hard-on for masochism, thank you very much. 

“I still don’t know if I can actually get hard—I might not. What am I gonna do then?” Kaner calls out again, and Jesus fuck, what the hell is he doing in the bathroom? A full-on manscaping session? Jonny groans, grinding his forehead into the pillow. This is what he gets for doing charity, huh? “I don’t fucking know Kaner, figure it out,” Jonny snaps.

“What, you’re not gonna offer to blow me, Captain Selfless?” Kaner says voice getting louder as he finally emerges from the bathroom. “Not gonna—” Jonny hears a strangled gasp, a muffled thud, and a quiet stream of curses.

Jonny lifts his head and cranes his head back a bit. “Er, Kaner?” he asks. He can’t actually see anything, because that would require him to get up and physically turn around, and that’s something he’s absolutely not gonna do. “You good?” 

Jonny doesn’t hear anything but heavy breathing. He frowns. “What the hell, did you see a ghost or something? Get a fucking move on, man,” he says crabbily, shoving his face back into the pillow. 

“I-I’m coming,” comes Kaner’s faint voice. Thank fuck. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, eh?” Jonny says, spreading his legs a little. There’s another strangled noise from behind him, and then dead silence. Tick tock goes the fucking clock. Jonny shifts, getting antsier the longer he sits there exposed under Kaner’s gaze while Kaner just _stands there_. Is this some kind of mind game? An act of psychological warfare? “Jesus, you this smooth with all the ladies?” Jonny says testily. “Can’t _imagine_ why no one’s lining up to take your dick.” 

Seriously, the dude’s taking _forever._ Jonny may be running on the righteous fumes of Captainly nobleness, but that shit is bound to run out at some point, and he’d prefer it be _after_ Kaner has had his goddamn dick up Jonny’s ass.

Predictably, the dig about Kaner’s game finally spurs him into action, making him mutter a quick “Shut up, dickhead,” mattress dipping and creaking below Jonny as Kaner finally clambers onto the bed. Jonny’s hit with a wave of scents—the musk and spice of Kaner’s cologne mixed with the sharp, clean mint of his toothpaste, and underneath it, something Jonny can’t put into words—something uniquely _Kaner_ . It makes something uncomfortable squirm inside him, but Jonny quickly stifles it, because he can’t afford that shit right now. _Lie back and think about the Hawks,_ he tells himself. 

He almost jerks when he feels Kaner’s hands part his legs, an instinctive protest lodged in his throat. But he makes himself swallow it down, because this is the name of the game. “Took you long enough,” Jonny bitches as he feels Kaner settle between his legs, hoping the heat in his voice covers up the sudden rush of nerves. “The fuck were you doing in there, making yourself all pretty for me?” Jonny feels something thunk down on the mattress next to him, rolling over until it hits his side. 

Lube. 

Jesus. 

He can practically hear Kaner roll his eyes. “Chill out, psycho,” Kaner says, and then—

“ _Ow_ ,” Jonny cries, hand flying back to cup the back of his head. “Did you just _flick me_?” 

“You were being annoying,” Kaner says simply, settling in behind him, starting to slide his palm up Jonny’s outer thigh. Jonny shivers, but not from the cold—Kaner’s hand is unexpectedly warm and soft. 

“You do that to every person that annoys you in bed, or am I just special?” Jonny grouses, stomach clenching tight. Kaner’s drawing little circles on Jonny’s hip, all gentle and shit. It makes Jonny—uncomfortable. More than anything else so far. 

Kaner taps his hip. “Spread your legs for me,” he says, ignoring Jonny’s very valid question. 

“My legs are open,” Jonny grits out.

“More,” Kaner says, reaching his hands down to push at Jonny’s inner thighs when Jonny doesn’t make a move to do it himself. And then Kaner fucking _spreads his cheeks,_ holding him open. Jonny can’t help himself—he sucks in a little breath, embarrassment burning hot inside him, burning even brighter when Kaner lets out a low whistle, fingers pressing hard into the meat of Jonny’s ass.

“Shit, you’re like, really, really small here,” Kaner breathes, reaching down to pass a dry thumb over Jonny’s hole. Jonny jerks, feeling like he’s been fucking electrocuted. Holy shit. Holy _shit,_ Kaner just touched him— 

“Sorry, sorry,” Kaner says, smoothing his hands over Jonny’s back like he’s a goddamn horse. “Shoulda warned you, just—” He coughs, not finishing his sentence. 

“It’s fine,” Jonny says tightly, muscles all clenched up. “Just do it.” There’s a pause, and Kaner’s hands stop moving against his skin.

“Just do it?” Kaner echoes blankly. “What, you mean stick my dick in your ass?”

“Yep,” Jonny says, popping the ‘p’. “Or is that not the whole point of this thing?”

Kaner snorts. “The point is for me to fuck you, yeah. Not give you permanent ass damage.” He can feel Kaner shift again, leaning his weight forward. “Gonna have to open you up nice and slow if you’re gonna take me.” 

Jonny’s face heats at the words. “Like you’re that big,” he scoffs. He’s seen what Kaner’s packing—team showers—and it’s nothing special. 

“Wanna look?”

Jonny doesn’t, but he sighs and twists back anyway. His mouth dries right up. “Like I said, not that big,” Jonny lies, keeping his voice casual. But inside, there’s a whole world of panic swirling inside him. That isn’t Kaner’s dick. He’s seen Kaner’s dick. That’s a _mutant_ dick—long, thick, big _everywhere,_ down the stupid huge heft of its balls. Jonny blinks. Oh. That’s because—

“You’re hard,” Jonny says, surprised. Kaner wraps an automatic hand around the base in response to Jonny’s words, like he’s trying to ground himself. Jonny hazards a quick glance up. 

Kaner shrugs, sheepish look crossing his face. “Turns out it wasn’t a problem,” he says gruffly, and Jonny has no idea what to say to that. Kaner hesitates, biting his lip. "Do you think you could maybe, uh, get on your back instead? It'll make it easier to gauge your reactions, make sure I'm not hurting you." 

It’s surprisingly considerate, and for all of Kaner’s usual brashness, he actually looks—bashful, almost, looking at Jonny from under his long lashes and worrying the inside of his cheek between his teeth. It kind of makes Jonny want to yell at him or shove him—or just get up and run the fuck out of the room. Maybe all three. 

Jonny swallows hard. Well, there goes his “lie back and think of the Hawks” plan. He slowly makes himself flip over, thoughts racing as his back hits the mattress. Well, he could probably close his eyes? 

Kaner snorts, making Jonny’s eyes snap to his. “I can fucking hear you thinking,” he says dryly. “Seriously, chill the fuck out, okay? Let me steer this ship, Captain. I got it.” Kaner doesn’t have _shit._ No pick up game or actual game—scoring drought, hello—which is exactly why they’re in this stupid fucking situation in the first place. 

Kaner reaches over to grab a pillow from the other side of the bed. “Lift up,” he says motioning at Jonny’s ass. Jonny’s ass stays put. Kaner rolls his eyes.“Lift. Up. It’ll make the angle better.” Jonny defiantly stays still for another few seconds before finally arching up, letting Kaner wriggle the pillow under his lower back and ass. 

Jonny clenches his jaw, watching Kaner grab the bottle of lube by Jonny’s hip, pop the cap, and drizzle some out onto his fingers. Kaner pauses, looking up. "Like I said, nice and slow. I know what I'm doing, okay?" he says firmly, and Jonny reluctantly finds himself nodding in response.

“Good,” Kaner says. “Kay, I’m gonna start now, okay?” Jonny nods again, grim, shutting his eyes. Here they fucking go. _You can do this. You are an awesome Captain. Think Hawks and Cups. Hawks. And. Cups._

He feels a smack on his shin, startling him into opening his eyes. “What the hell?” he says.

Kaner’s looking down at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance—wow, it’s like staring into a mirror. “Open your eyes, you lunatic,” Kaner says. “This isn’t some medieval torture session or whatever the fuck. It’s supposed to feel good. It’s going to feel good.”

Jonny’s eyes automatically drop to Kaner’s huge, straining dick. “Yeah, for you,” he mutters. 

Kaner lets out a quiet huff of laughter. The fucker is _smirking._ “We’ll see,” he says cryptically. “I’m gonna start with one finger, okay?” He doesn’t wait to hear Jonny’s response before parting his legs open again and drawing his finger towards Jonny’s ass. 

Jonny flinches when Kaner’s finger touches his hole. “What the fuck, that’s cold,” he hisses, going to close his legs on instinct. Kaner doesn’t let him. 

“It’s lube, dumb fuck,” he says. “It’ll warm up, just give it time, Christ.” Kaner presses his finger against Jonny’s hole again, and Jonny flinches. It really is cold. But then Kaner starts—circling, rubbing the pad of his finger around Jonny’s rim. Gentle pressure, not even really pushing in. At least it’s not cold anymore, but—

Jonny finds his eyes flicking subconsciously to Kaner’s porn dick, which has gone flushed and leaking. How the hell is Kaner gonna fit _that thing_ inside him if he's just gonna stick to rubbing circles, or whatever the fuck he's doing? But Kaner continues, keeping up his steady circles until Jonny finds himself starting to relax. 

“Good,” Kaner murmurs. “Gonna give you a finger now, okay? I’ll go slow. It’ll feel weird at first.” At first? This whole _thing_ is weird. Kaner pours out more lube, and then—

He’s pushing in with his index finger, slow and steady. “God, you really are tiny,” he says tightly. “Can feel you clinging to my finger.” Jonny wants to snap at him because _what the fuck, Kaner_ , but he’s too fucking overwhelmed by both the feeling of Kaner’s finger fucking pushing inside him—and perhaps even more mortifyingly, by the _thought_ of it, too. 

Now is not the best time for his brain to be supplying him with a highlight reel of exactly what those fingers have accomplished, but that’s precisely what’s happening—a goddamn play-by-play of Kaner’s fingers wrapping around his stick, his wicked dangles, every goddamn slick, filthy goal he’s scored. With those hands. With those fingers. And now one of them is inside Jonny, working to coax him open. 

Jonny must make a noise, because Kaner stops moving, keeping his finger still inside Jonny as he pauses to ask “You okay?” 

Jonny nods, hardly daring to speak. He can feel the width of Kaner’s finger inside him like a brand, hot and heavy. Kaner gives him a careful look before starting up a slow pump, a gentle in-and-out. It feels—weird, like Kaner had said. It’s nothing, really. But it still makes Jonny blush, because he’s—he’s getting fucked. Not with Kaner’s cock, but that doesn’t change the fact of the matter that there’s something pushing inside him and then sliding out—filling him up and leaving him empty in a dizzying cycle. 

Besides the filth of it all, though, it doesn’t really feel _good._ Kaner adds a second finger, and the stretch grows, the suggestion of a burn fluttering at the edges of Jonny’s hole. But besides that, not much changes. “Thought you said this was supposed to feel good, Casanova,” Jonny mutters. Not that he was really expecting it—as he said, Kaner’s always been full of shit. 

Kaner scowls, face screwing up in concentration. “Just give me—” He changes the angle of his wrist, pumps his fingers back in, curls in, and—

“ _Fuck,”_ Jonny gasps, shocked cry leaving his lips and hips jerking up. What the fuck—What the _hell_ just—Holy _shit._

“Whoa,” Kaner says. Jonny looks up, chest heaving. Kaner’s staring down at where his fingers are still stuffed inside Jonny with fascination. He gives another rub. 

“ _Ah,”_ Jonny cries out again, white heat flashing through him and balls drawing up tight. “You— _What.”_ He doesn’t know whether to tell Kaner to stop or to _never_ stop. He’s never—

“I’ve read about it,” Kaner says, and Jonny snaps his head up. “But I never thought—” Kaner shakes his head with a short laugh and looks up to meet Jonny’s gaze, eyes dark and tongue running over his bottom lip. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Jonny doesn’t know if “cool” is the right word to describe what he’s feeling. He can feel his lips slip into a scowl. “Kaner, what the fuck—”

Kaner smiles briefly. “Your prostate, Tazer. Think of it as a magic orgasm button.” Woah, woah, woah. This whole thing is for _Kaner_ to get off, not Jonny—no way he’s getting off on Kaner _fucking_ him, magic orgasm button or not. It’s like Kaner can read the protests all over Jonny’s face, because he presses a third finger against Jonny’s rim, and all of Jonny’s indignation floods out of him, replaced by a hint of tension. Kaner’s hand comes up to stroke at Jonny’s hip bone. “You’re gonna need it,” he says gently. The _to take me_ goes unsaid this time. 

Jonny’s hands fist in the sheets. The stretch and burn get brighter this time. But Kaner, true to his word, takes his time. Going slow, using lots of lube. By the time Kaner finally withdraws his fingers, Jonny realizes he’s mostly relaxed, eyes closed not in trepidation but out of—laziness, almost, the hypnotic, steady pump of Kaner’s fingers making his limbs and lids heavy. That changes when he hears the wrinkle of a condom packet, a tear, and the unmistakable sound of a condom being rolled over a dick. Jonny opens his eyes. Kaner’s looking down at him, cock in hand, cheeks pinked up. “You ready?” he says, voice a little rough. 

_No._

“Yeah,” Jonny chokes out. And then more firmly, “Let’s get this over with. I need my winger back.” The look on Kaner’s face is inscrutable. 

“Okay,” he says simply. And then he’s drawing himself up on the bed and fitting the head of his cock at Jonny’s hole. “ _Fuck.”_ Jonny can’t tell which one of them says it—maybe both of them. Their eyes meet. Jonny can’t look away, even though everything in him is begging him to. Maybe Kaner can’t either, because when he starts to push in, his eyes are still locked on Jonny’s. 

Kaner’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as he slides his cock in, inch by inch. His eyes flutter shut. “Sh-shit, you’re tight,” he says, voice strained. “Can tell you’ve never taken a cock before.” It’s right on the tip of Jonny’s tongue, to tell Kaner to cut that shit out, to not to try to use any of that porno dialogue nonsense on him—but he can feel Kaner’s fingers flexing against his hips, like they’re stopping him from just fucking in hard. 

Kaner’s—

Kaner’s restraining himself. 

Every second he inches his hips forward, slow and steady, is a battle. He probably wants to rut in rough, take, fuck. The clutch of Jonny’s body’s making him that way, and he’s not letting himself, because he doesn’t want—he doesn’t want to hurt Jonny. It makes something indescribable sweep across Jonny, and he can feel his hole try to clench down around Kaner, except there’s almost no room _to_ clench—Kaner’s finally fucked all the way in, hips pressed against Jonny’s ass, and he’s so hard inside Jonny that there’s not even a fraction of an inch of give. 

It all hits Jonny at once—the stretch of his rim, split open on Kaner’s dick, the burn he feels in a place he’s never felt, the feeling of being _full,_ so full that he almost can’t breathe, full in a way he’s never been before, full because—

“Y—you’re in me,” Jonny says, shaky and nonsensical, head spinning from the hard, sharp, slap of _truth_ , raw and almost loud in its violent intensity. “Holy _fuck_ , you’re inside me.” It seems impossible. It _is_ impossible. But he can feel Kaner, hard and hot and _alive_ , the girth of him spearing Jonny open, his fingers digging into Jonny’s sides. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Kaner says sharply, “Don’t say shit like that.” Jonny looks up. Kaner’s eyes are glazed over, chest moving rapidly. His lip’s almost white in the place where he's biting down hard. 

But Jonny can’t help it—he can feel Kaner _everywhere._ “That’s your _cock_ inside me, Kaner,” he says, more than a little hysterical because _what the fuck._ He reaches down to slide his fingers over the place where their bodies are joined, Jonny’s rim pulled tight against Kaner’s shaft. “Your cock’s inside me,” he whispers, blinking again and again, trying to process everything—sight and smell and feel and sound and even _taste,_ swallowing down a mouthful of air that’s gone thick with something deep and heady—sex. He can literally taste the evidence of what they’re doing in the fucking _air._

“Tazer,” Kaner says, sounding on edge. “I know this is one big Whackopalooza for you, but I _really_ need you to shut the fuck up.”

But Jonny can’t stop. He knew what he was signing up for—or at least he thought he did. Because the reality is so much more than he could’ve ever imagined. Not better, not worse—just _more,_ every part of him lit up and alive and _aware,_ too fucking aware. And he really thought he would be able to just lie back and think of the Hawks, huh? Turns out Kaner’s not the only moron between them. 

Kaner’s stopped moving inside him, just sitting frozen, letting Jonny get everything out. He probably thinks he’s helping, but the longer he just _sits_ there inside Jonny, the more desperate Jonny feels, the more overwhelmed, because he keeps _realizing,_ realizing the enormity of what they’re doing, what he’s feeling. “I lied,” Jonny babbles. “I lied, _fuck._ You’re so—so fucking big, can feel you everywhere, like I can’t—I can’t escape you. So hard, _fuck,_ Kaner, don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget what you feel like inside me— _ah,”_ he cries out, because Kaner—

Kaner snapped, driving his cock all rough into Jonny’s body. “Shit,” he says trembling, hands petting at Jonny’s sides in a conciliatory gesture. “ _Shit,_ I’m so sorry, didn’t mean—you just kept _talking,_ couldn’t help—shit, shouldn’t have—”

“ _More,”_ Jonny gasps. “Please, Kaner, _fuck.”_ Jonny can feel himself shaking, wound up tight because—he’s never, ever felt like that in his life. He can’t even remember if it was _good,_ that one, harsh thrust. He just knows that if he doesn’t feel it again _right the fuck now,_ he’s going to—explode, drop dead, _something._

Kaner’s eyes snap to his in surprise, and Jonny has no idea what he sees on his face, but Kaner gets this look. A familiar look. Brows furrowing slightly, eyes going intense, tongue reaching out to swipe across his lip. 

It’s the look Kaner gets when he’s figuring out a play. 

Without saying a thing or looking away, Kaner pulls out halfway and then gives another quick, rough thrust in. 

“ _Shit,”_ Jonny whines, back arching as flickers of pleasure dance down his spine. “I—” Kaner doesn’t let him speak, though. Just hauls his hips up and gives another hard snap in. Another cry spills from Jonny’s mouth. “I don’t—I don’t know what’s—” He looks up at Kaner feeling lost, lost in the sea of pleasure flooding his body, lost in the confusion of how it could be that he feels like this. 

Kaner grips him close, eyes boring into Jonny’s.“What’s happening, Taze,” he murmurs, starting up a deep, filthy roll of the hips that makes sparks flash behind Jonny’s eyelids. “Is that you’re taking my cock—” Another harsh thrust. “And you’re loving it.” 

Jonny wants to shut his eyes, shake his head, _denydenydeny,_ but he can’t, too caught up in the overwhelming feeling of Kaner rutting inside him, catching his prostate with every grind of his cockhead because of his stupid, stupid big dick. “Fuck you, Kaner,” Jonny says desperately, head lolling back as Kaner increases the speed of his thrusts. “What’ve you done to me?” It’s a little pathetic how broken his voice sounds, how he reaches up to clutch at Kaner and draw him in close. 

Kaner’s everywhere inside him, but the more Kaner fucks him— _fucks_ him, Jesus Christ—the more Jonny feels the need to feel Kaner’s skin on his too, his arms around him, grounding him. “Hold me, you little shit,” Jonny hisses, throat tight with the force of his need. “You have to—” Kaner swears, folding his body over Jonny’s so Jonny’s caged in by him on all sides. It makes the angle even more devastating, pleasure so bright it almost feels like pain. 

“I’ve got you, Jonny, don’t worry,” Kaner chokes out, rolling his hips faster, sweat sheening his skin. It’s not enough. He feels an honest to god _sob_ catch in his throat as he arches up, trying to meet Kaner’s thrusts and fuck himself on his cock, trying to chase that _too much_ but addictive feeling. 

“Tazer, stop,” Kaner says, reaching down to press a big hand to Jonny’s abs. It sounds like it’s killing him to say the words. “Quit it. You’re gonna hurt yourself. Let me give it to you, okay? I know what you need.” Jonny shudders, trying to stop the twitching of his hips. “I always know what you need,” he says quietly, and his face is serious when Jonny looks up. Jonny’s—Jonny has no words for what he’s feeling, torn between wanting to gasp and cry and hide his face and most bafflingly of all, reach up and bring his lips—

“Kaner,” he says, furious and scared and longing because he didn’t know he could feel like this, could’ve gone his whole _life_ not knowing that he could feel like this and be way more at fucking peace with himself. But this happened. Kaner happened. _They_ happened, bodies joined together, heat mixing, Kaner’s fucking cock inside him. And maybe Jonny’ll never know peace again. 

“I always know what you need,” Kaner repeats firmly. “Trust that I know what you need now.” And so Jonny nods and—lets go. Lets Kaner take over. Lets him enter Jonny’s body again and again, perfect angle, perfect pressure, perfect everything. Lets him light Jonny up and take him apart. Lets him make Jonny sob and curse and gasp and come, balls aching with the force of his release as Kaner gets him just right. 

Lets Kaner pour his own release inside him and wishes, for a fleeting second, that there was no flimsy plastic barrier between his hole and Kaner’s come.

Once Kaner finally slips out, it’s like a bubble has burst. “Can’t believe I’ve never noticed your ass before,” Kaner says in wonder, reaching down to fucking squeeze Jonny’s cheeks as his breath comes down from coming his brains out. 

“Get your hands off me, loser,” Jonny snaps, ignoring the stupid gut punch of heat he gets the second Kaner’s hand makes contact with his skin. His mind’s reeling, trying to process what the _fuck_ just happened. 

Kaner raises a brow. “Why, you sore or something?”

Jonny flushes. “You’re not that big,” he lies, steadfastly ignoring the growing ache in his ass. Because Kaner’s dick was just in it. _Fuck._

“No?” Kaner grins, dipping his hand down and pressing two fingers to Jonny’s swollen hole. And yeah, Jonny flinches. “That’s not what you said ten minutes ago.” Jonny resists the urge to get up and _run._ Christ, how is he ever going to live this down? You know what? At least no one— _no one_ —can say he’s not a good fucking captain. “Tazer, chill. It was hot as fuck, seeing you lose it on my cock,” Kaner says casually, which just makes Jonny flush harder, getting more embarrassed. Easy for Kaner to say, he’s not the one who let—

Fuck, he doesn’t even sound _affected._

Kaner pulls him close. “Makes me wanna do it all the time.” He drags a thumb down to rest at the top of the crease of Jonny’s ass. “Just bend you over and stick it in.”

“Oh god,” Jonny groans, hiding his face in his hands. _FuckFuckFuck._ Why did he do this? Now he’s just the butt of Kaner’s joke, something that’ll make Kaner smirk at him all knowing and cocky while Jonny will burn up inside with shame and arousal and just fucking _confusion,_ because how the hell did this happen to him?

“Hey,” Kaner says, and something about his voice makes Jonny look up at him. The look on his face is surprisingly—soft, all hint of smugness wiped clean. It makes Jonny’s cheeks heat a little, and his chin starts to drop before Kaner catches it with his thumb, making Jonny suck in a startled breath. “Jonny,” Kaner murmurs, eyes serious as they search Jonny’s own. “I’m serious. It was hot. I don’t want you to feel bad about liking it. You shouldn’t,” he says firmly, voice taking on an edge of authority that has shivers racing down Jonny’s spine on instinct. “You were gorgeous, falling apart on my cock,” he says, maintaining that infuriatingly soft voice. 

Jonny lets out a little gasp before he can help himself, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Shut up,” he says voice coming out uneven. Kaner just takes his thumb and strokes it down the column of Jonny’s throat—Jonny can feel the path it's carving like a brand, even as he keeps his eyes shut. 

“Won’t,” Kaner says simply, breath ghosting across Jonny’s ear as he brings his lips close. When Jonny swallows, he can feel Kaner’s thumb move along at the movement, still pressed against his throat. “Open your eyes,” Kaner says gently, and Jonny does, heart pounding erratically in his chest. Kaner’s face is inches from his own. “There's nothing wrong with taking cock and liking it, okay?” Kaner says roughly, blue eyes brilliant and sparking and refusing to look away until Jonny nods.

Kaner's eyes dip down to scan up and down Jonny’s body. “Fuck,” he says eloquently, scrubbing his hand across his face. “Think your ass should be given a gold medal or something, I think it broke my dick.” It’s such a typically Kaner thing to say that Jonny finds himself snorting despite himself. 

“Excuse me?” he says, not sure which of the confusing clusterfuck of emotions that’s brewing inside him is coming out in his voice. 

Kaner slides his hand off his face with a groan, leveling a stare at Jonny. “You weren’t the only one affected, okay, asswipe? So get your head out of your ass. M’ never gonna be able to fuck anyone else ever again,” he says, biting his lips, hands trailing down to trace the crease of Jonny’s ass before giving his cheek another quick squeeze. Jonny should be outraged. _Very_ fucking upset. But instead he feels his hole clench and his spent cock give an interested twitch. _Jesus Christ, thanks for the fucking loyalty_ , he thinks viciously at his nether regions. 

But thankfully Kaner doesn’t notice, too caught up in the mental crisis Jonny’s ass has caused him, or whatever the fuck. “God, I just—you have no idea what you felt like, okay? What you looked like. Just wanna keep you on my dick all the time,” Kaner says, voice going low. Jonny opens his mouth to tell Kaner to knock it off, but all that comes out is a gravelly “Yeah?” Kaner nods, eyes going dark. “Yeah, baby,” he says, and that—it hits Jonny straight in the gut, makes him lose his breath for a second. Well that’s _highly embarrassing_ and something to be examined at a much, much later time. 

For now—

“You can have me on your dick,” Jonny says, and Kaner sucks in a quick breath, eyes going wide. “If you start putting up points again.” Kaner groans, thunking his head against Jonny’s chest. Jonny valiantly ignores how much he likes it being there. 

“You fucking serious?” he says, lips moving against Jonny’s skin. Jonny pinches him on the ear, making him yelp and draw back. “What the fuck?” he hisses, glaring at Jonny. 

“Yes I’m serious,” Jonny says sternly. “Don’t forget, I did this for the team.” There’s a complicated tangle of emotions that flash across Kaner’s face. 

“Right,” he says. “Of course.” He looks down for a second. “Hey Tazer,” he says, still looking down. “What if I told you that in order to score next game, I really, really need to be kissed?” He looks up, and Jonny’s stupid heart rate increases. 

“That’s not—that’s not like anal,” Jonny says, face twisting around the word. “You can find plenty of girls to do that. Right the fuck now, even.”

Kaner just shakes his head at him. “Nah, that won’t work. It’s gotta be by you,” he says, blue eyes blinking wide at Jonny. 

Jonny can’t—can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do a single damn thing. “I—I guess I could do that,” he says, voice coming out unsteady. “You know. For the team.”

Kaner gazes up at him and a bright smile breaks across his face. _Fuck, he’s beautiful._ “Of course,” he agrees. “For the team.” He reaches up to cup Jonny’s cheek, and it’s a different kind of overwhelming that’s flooding Jonny’s body right now, more intense than when he was getting fucked, if that’s even possible. “Kiss me, Jonny,” Kaner murmurs. And so Jonny does. You know, for the team. 

* * *

The next game, Kaner puts up four points. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr ](https://tarcanza.tumblr.com/) for updates and also on [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/tarcanza). Come say hi!


End file.
